Herpo the MuggleBorn
by PeverellForever
Summary: The first Horcrux was invented by Herpo the Foul, as was the first Basilisk. Here, coming to you from Jillian Lestrange, is the pureblood version of what happened to this first basilisk and Horcrux. Purebloods who read this should particularly understand the connection between Muggle-borns and dark magic.


A/N: Okay, so I was suddenly struck by the urge to write fanfiction after a long time working on other stuff. I thought I'd try a bit of anti-Muggle propaganda mixed with the story of the destruction of the first Horcrux. You see, it's clear that Muggle-borns are the ones who are the most likely to make Horcruxes because they haven't been taught the difference between good magic and evil magic, and they think that all magic is evil, so it is acceptable to make a horcrux if it is accpetable to make things levitate. I'd be grateful if you ignored the holes in this logic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or a basilisk, or a Horcrux. I am not the master of the elder wand, sadly, nor any of the Deathly Hallows. I do not mean any offense to any Muggle-borns out there, unless you are planning to make a horcrux anytime soon. Er - that is to say - I wouldn't mean any offense to you if you're real... *dodges out of the way of angry Ministry of Magic official*

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It was born in the darkness of the chamber. The toad beneath which it was hatching croaked once, but Herpo silenced it with a flick of his wand. He wanted to savor the moment in total silence. This moment, he would create the most dangerous weapon known to wizard-kind. This moment, he had been planning for months, ever since he had figured out the precise way to create a creature with incurable venom and deadly eyes.

The creatures emerged, first its head as it cracked its way through the shell, then its body, green and slimy, squelching softly against the side of the egg. Herpo checked his pocketwatch. He would have blasted the egg apart to speed things up if it weren't for the damage it would have done to the process. He had only seconds left before the fools found him here, before they saw what he had done. He would have preferred to escape unnoticed. There would be a fight, no doubt.

He watched it closely as it emerged, bulbous eyes still blind and harmless. It would take seconds for them to strengthen now it was in the air. Herpo turned away to protect his eyes from its great bulbous ones.

"_Welcome,_" Herpo said, his voice a faint hiss, casting a supersensory charm behind the creature with a flick of his wand.

"_Basilissskss_," the creature said.

From what he could see in the supersensory charm, the creature was making its way around the floor of the chamber, prodding the foot of the giant monkey-like statue in the corner of the chamber in a playful sort of way. He almost smiled.

"Herpo!"

Herpo spun around at the sound of the hoarse voice. There was a loud bang that told him some fool had tried to blast the door out of his way. He would see about that.

"_Open_," he whispered to the door. There was a creak as it swung to reveal a short, apelike man in a star-spangled pointy green hat. The man was dramatically pointing a lit wand at him, as if he were a member of the International Confederation of Wizards come to arrest him for breaking their new secrecy law. Salazar Slytherin, what a pompous fool.

Herpo laughed, and the chamber was filled with echoes bouncing off every wall. The snake spat at the ground, "_Sstop, sssoundss sstop!_"

Herpo stopped. No use angering the snake; he needed complete control over it. He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. Of course, the bothersome man in the hat had only heard "Syahasseathh," or some such variation, but it was irrelevant. The snake wasn't to be trifled with, as this man would soon be finding out.

"What is that, Herpo? What are you doing in my castle?" Salazar spat.

"Your_ castle?_ You live here? In this dark cell? I would have thought that you would want to live somewhere where your precious students would be able to call on you for help with their levitation charms in the middle of the night. Or have you given up teaching them as a failed attempt?"

"This castle is my home, Herpo, not this godforsaken chamber that I see you've put your image all over. Get out, and take your cursed snake with you!" Salazar pointed to the door with his wand.

The snake hissed more sharply behind them, "_Let me kill, evil sssounds."_

"What was that?" Salazar asked. "Who's saying that?"

"Saying what?" Herpo asked, so surprised he forgot to be contemptuous.

"Something about killing evil sounds…" Salazar's voice trailed off as he listened.

Herpo's eyes flashed red. Salazar Slytherin could speak the snake-tongue too. He was clever to have hidden it. He knew that it would have put his life in danger. In fact, it was all Herpo could do to keep from cursing him then and there. He would save that for the snake. His soul was too unstable from creating his most prized invention to risk it anymore. He shook his head as if a fly had landed on it. Being constrained to allowing others to tear their souls was a nuisance that he could do without, but that was the price of immortality. A soul could only be spilt once, after all, and he, he of all wizards, had succeeded in doing it.

He had no remorse. Yes, that was the key.

He smiled at Salzar. If this was all they had to stop him, he needn't have hurried at all. "Is it just you down here?"

"Yes," Salazar said tersely.

"Then let me show you what it is." Surprised by how oily his voice sounded, he stood back and allowed Salazar to walk ahead of him into the chamber. One man coming to stop him was easily dealt with.

Salazar glanced suspiciously at him, and seemed to teeter between curiosity and fear. He stepped past Herpo.

When he turned around, he saw that the snake had slithered into one of the crevices in the statue. It would soon send that fool to the grave. That fool who thought he was wonderful because he had started the _saintly_ project of a school. Because he _protected_ young witches and wizards. Because he _took them in when the Muggles hated them._ He knew about Muggles—he had grown up with them himself. The young witches and wizards would have a much better education learning to protect themselves from the superstitious on the streets than they would learning how to change teacups into rats here. Magic was evil, that had been beaten into his head since he was a child, and there was no use pretending otherwise. A teacup that was charmed was just as evil as a horcrux. And a rat wouldn't protect you from a Muggle lynch mob. A horcrux would.

Salazar followed him into the chamber, his eyes fixed on the snake, which was now back on the ground, nudging at something with its head. It had knocked down his bust. He allowed the snake to carry on. He wasn't afraid of his Horcrux being destroyed by the snake; nothing could destroy the soul jar. It could repair itself. He was truly immortal.

The snake wrapped itself around the bust, as if it were protecting a prized possession. Herpo felt a thrill of pride. Could the snake feel him inside it? No, that was impossible.

Salazar walked up to the snake. "What's this?"

"What does it look like?"

"Bassilissk," the snake hissed.

"A basilisk. Never heard of them."

"You wouldn't have," Herpo said shortly. Salazar's back was to him. It would be so easy, just to shoot the old Aramaic Avada Kedavra into his back. He wouldn't see it coming… but no. He wasn't going to risk the rest of his soul fracturing for that. Only one tear, and then no more rips. He wasn't a fool.

"What does it do?" Salazar's eyes fell on the egg.

"Look at its eyes," Herpo suggested softly. "That will tell you what it does."

But Salazar turned around instead, because at that moment, Herpo had given an earsplitting cry of pain that echoed off the cavern walls just like his laugh, for the basilisk had sunk its tooth into the bust, and blood had begun to spill from the head. _Heal, heal, please heal!_ Herpo thought at the bust with all his might. Why wasn't it working? Why did he feel like his soul had already ripped clean of the object and disappeared into the mist?

Salazar looked down at him. "Look at the eyes, eh?" He glanced at the bust. "Looks like I've got enough to worry about with its teeth. I thought you were up to something with this bust. Never leaving it in one place. Experimenting with soul-splitting." Salazar spat the last two words. "It looks like you've created your own match , Herpo, you foul man. Now get out of my school—or I will drag you out."

Herpo, still clutching his chest, feeling like he had just made the Horcrux rather than it had just been bitten. It was still there, right? It couldn't actually be gone. Panic was lodging in his heart below where it ached from his torn soul. No, this couldn't be. His anger blinded his reason; he would kill Salazar for insulting him. He raised his wand. "Avad—"

But he never finished his sentence, for at that moment, the basilisk caught his eye, and he died instantly, the Horcrux having been destroyed by the basilisk venom seconds before.

Salazar, covering his eyes, reached down and picked up the bust, examining it carefully. He knew just the place for this, in his school, where no one would ever find it. In Rowena's secret room—he would ask for a place to hide, and then it would never be found. No one would ever again split their soul. Unless Herpo had managed to publish his findings—he pushed that to the back of his mind.

The snake was hissing and spitting on the ground now. Salazar raised his voice, and switched to Parseltongue. "_Basilisk, I have defeated your master. Your aleigance is with me and my descendents forever. You will remain in this chamber until called."_

The snake, in its lowest hiss yet, said. "_Yesss…wait for massstersss…_"

The man, clutching his robes up, ran from the room. In all of his long life, he knew he would never call on the snake. It was harmless in this chamber, its door unopenable by anyone but those who spoke the language of snakes. A language that existed only in his and Herpo's bloodlines. Yes, only he and his descendants would be able to open it. They never would.

He was still shaking his head in disgust when he ascended back into the castle. To split your soul—well, he was ambitious, but even he wouldn't go to such lengths to extend his life. What was the point of living longer if you were maimed in death? Surely anyone with brains knew that. Why, then, had Herpo done it?

It was the Muggles, he concluded. Herpo had grown up with the Muggles and learned to hate all magic. The man made a noise of disgust that no one heard. He'd speak to Godric about letting in Muggle children. If Herpo was any indicator, they couldn't be trusted one bit. Too often, it was easy to tell how a group ought to be treated from the actions of one man. The Muggle-borns were too scarred. They didn't have the understanding of magic they needed to be responsible with it. They saw it only as a means to evil, and a means of protection. They saw themselves only as evil, and were drawn to evil acts—such as Herpo's disgusting experiment.

Salazar Slytherin ascended from the Chamber of Secrets for the last time. The chamber would never again be opened, he knew. Only Muggle-borns were drawn to that evil magic. His pure descendants would keep the castle safe from the basilisk as long as it lived.

-By Jillian Lestrange, member of Council for the Eradication of Mudbloods and the Correction of History (CHEMaCH). For the pro-Muggle story, see most textbooks about the origin of the Chamber of Secrets.

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This is the part where I shamelessly beg for reviews. Please review me! It'd make my day!


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